


breathing underwater

by pizzallate



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Agender Frisk, Fluff, I'm horrible at them, Other, Underfell AU, i hate writing sans bc i can't make jokes, it's horrible, not sure how to put category r i p, some fluff for this painfilled au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-23 00:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6098689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pizzallate/pseuds/pizzallate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“you ever tried dancing?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	breathing underwater

**Author's Note:**

> it's 12am and i haven't slept at all and this all seemed really good at 5am don't judge me....  
> also sorry for any weird phrases or grammatical mistakes and stuff! feel free to correct me in the comments  
> @edit: i totally forgot to say that the song sans is humming is breathing underwater by metric!!! OOPS https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FXp-6y2bl90  
> underfell au belongs to underfart-snas@tumblr
> 
> (honestly not even sure this can be considered underfell)  
> (see also: i can't make jokes)

The few times they have that they don’t have to rush, don’t have to run from anyone, being able to just lie down for a little bit and rest, it’s usually filled with silence. He’s too tired, too annoyed (though that soon goes away), too much done to try and make any kind of conversation, any joke. And they, the human, well, they’re almost mute as they are (even though their voice is oh  _so nice_ to listen to), so nothing from them comes either.

The flower tries sometimes to fill the silence, talking about where they are (it—he, the skeleton reminds himself, glances at him sometimes, as if worried about his silence, or maybe just annoyed he’s not helping with the talking), asking if everything’s alright, trying to find some subject to cheer up the atmosphere, even though Sans thinks the silence is sometimes nice, surprisingly not awkward, the aura around the kid somehow peaceful and easy, calming him, shooing away any kind of bad thoughts he might have, about leaving them, that they’re never going to get out, or the guilt over the fact that it’s because of him they can’t see anymore.

He glances at the human, wonders if they’re sleeping –they hadn’t moved in a few minutes, their chest moving slowly every few seconds, expression –the little of their face that could still be seen—soft. The flower (he always forget his name) surely seems like so, eyes closed and still, roots on the ground. He almost looks like a normal buttercup like that, except for the size.

They might be sleeping, but… Sans still wanted to try. He’s bored, they’ve been resting for long enough –although he definitely wouldn’t deny staying longer and catching a few more z’s.

“you ever tried dancing?”

For a second, he really thinks they’re sleeping, since for a few seconds there’s no reaction at all, but then they tilt their head, before shaking it in denial.

He gets up, patting his pants to make sure there’s no dirt sticking around, “well, might want to get up, then, sweetheart.”

There’s no reaction for a second, but then, “No music,” and Sans is reminded how much he loves Frisk’s voice.

“nothing i can’t fix. no worries, babe,” a pause “wanna try?”

They think for a second before getting up, doing the same he had and patting their clothes for any dirt, before looking in his direction, waiting. Frisk remembered seeing friends or people on TV dancing, but it was so long ago, and besides, there were all kinds of style of music, each of them with their own style of dance. They had no idea what to expect.

He takes a few steps forward until he’s in front of them, taking their hand in his, taking a couple steps back so they wouldn’t be so close to the wall.

Their hand is small, and really warm. Sans likes that. Likes holding his hand.

“it’s nothing too fancy, so don’t worry. you can put your hand on my shoulder,” he says, resting his free hand on their hips. ““the song might be a bit  _hip_ pie, but no judging, a’right, sweetheart? just try moving along with me, easy steps.” he grins wider, leaning down slightly.

And then he starts humming, just loud enough for them to hear, the song slow, something he had heard a while ago through a mp3 that still worked but was at it’s last. He takes very small steps (being careful of  _where_  since he didn’t want to accidentally step on their foot), in random directions that ends up making them go in a circle.

It’s not difficult at all, and apparently Frisk thought so as well, seeing the small smile on their face. He wasn’t the best singer (though this wasn’t even technically singing), but he wasn’t the worst either.

“Good song,” they say, with a pause as their smile grows, “But no good vocal cords.”

… Or so he had thought. Rude. He’s proud of their punny skills, though.  He couldn’t help his smile from widening, purposely making his voice extremely high pitched, stopping only to laugh when they pull a grimace, the hand on his shoulder moving to the flowers covering their ear.

“better be good, honey, i’m the one controlling the song after all.”

They nod, with a pout, before moving the hand back, and he’s back to humming –in a normal pitch, now.

Honestly, if anyone had before told him that something like this would happen, that he’d be enjoying thoroughly dancing with a human (dancing with anyone, actually), that he’d be enjoying the weight and warmth of the hand on his shoulder, on his hand, the softness of their skin, how much smaller they were in comparison to him, how much he’d enjoy having someone so close physically and emotionally– if anyone had told him how much he’d come to  _adore_ a human– he would’ve laughed until his nonexistent lungs exploded, laugh until there were tears running down his cheeks, laugh, laugh, and laugh some more, take a little break because he’s so tired, and then laugh once again, congratulate the monster who had told him that on their joke, because  _there was no way ever that would happen_.

Yet here they are, and here he is, loving everything he thought and hadn’t thought he wouldn’t, loving this moment, this song which hadn’t been really especial until now, this softness, warmth (even though the place they were in was cold), the smile on Frisk’s face, the arms that were circling his neck now, the cheek resting on his covered shoulder, the warm breath on his neck, their flowery smell (although he came to hate those buttercups  _so much_. Wanted to rip them out and throw far away, so that then he could see their eyes properly.), loving the closeness,  _this human_.

He moves his hands from their hips to the small of their back, bringing them closer, resting his chin on top of their head, the smile that was always on his face now smaller, though so much happier than any other in his life, so much more satisfied, in peace, and for this moment he could forget about everything that was happening, everything wrong, as long as they stayed there.

His eyes closed, body only moving to the rhythm, though he noticed there wasn’t even a rhythm anymore, since he had stopped the song. Since when? Frisk either didn’t notice or didn’t mind, since there were no different movements nor any reaction, only staying in the embrace.

“see? pretty easy, ain’t it? though i guess me being a wonderful professor does help.”

“Ruining the moment.”

“don’t get all frisky with me now, sweetheart.”

There’s a huff of laughter. And then the both of them are giggling. 

Honestly, Sans loves this moment more than anything else in his whole life.


End file.
